


Cake Isn't a Breakfast Food

by florastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Batcave, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florastiel/pseuds/florastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who says? A.k.a. the one where Dean makes breakfast for Cas, but it isn't exactly breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake Isn't a Breakfast Food

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have a small thing for Castiel wrapped in blankets. More specifically, Dean's blanket. Whoops.

It was morning, something Cas wasn’t so fond of. Well, if you could call noontime morning. Here in the bunker, time was a little irrelevant. Who were these little clocks to tell him when to eat, rest, and wake? Castiel took a distaste to schedule, and therefore routine meant next to nothing to him. He took showers at odd times in the day, ate when hungry (or when there was food available), and his sleep schedule was extremely screwed. He’d been a bit out of it since he arrived, and Dean would retire to his room only to find a fallen man in his bed, a broken angel twisted in his sheets after hours of sleep, one he curled around and settled against just as Cas woke, wakeful and ready to watch over his hunter like he so desired but couldn’t be granted by his new human form. 

And so, as Castiel woke to an empty bed with a few more hours of unneeded sleep and a slight headache, he was pleased to be met with the light smell of an unidentified baked good. Maybe Sam had made muffins again. Oh, he was so glad that the younger Winchester had noted his delight in those light and fluffy miniature cakes. Sweet with tangy, fresh fruits that Sam bought from a local farmer’s market. 

With a small smile playing at his lips, Cas pulled himself out of bed and dragged Dean’s comforter around him, holding it around his shoulders and letting it drag silently down the hall as he padded toward the kitchen, the scents of vanilla and cream stronger with each passing step. He ducked his head down to rub one of his eyes as he entered the kitchen, dark hair tousled with bedhead and bare feet still warm from the bed. His thriftshop sweatpants were black and hung low on his hips as he refused to tie the white drawstring, and his classic Star Trek II t-shirt was borrowed from Dean’s dresser, - Dean kept saying he wasn’t good with “discreet” at all - and it wasn’t long enough to cover a small sliver of tan skin that encompassed his hipbones. 

Turning the corner, he lifted the duvet close enough to his ears to fit it through the doorway before letting it fall back around his shoulders. Sam was walking out of the kitchen just then, and Castiel nodded a small apology as he nearly tripped the man up with his blanket. Sam just greeted him with a “Morning, Cas. Whoops.” before ducking around him and down the hall.

“Watch the comforter!” Dean called after him, and Castiel looked up from the tiled floor to find him standing at the counter in front of a cake plate, frosting a round something with fluffy white substance on a red spatula. Cas walked up behind him, blanket in tow, and watched for a few moments as Dean carefully smoothed down what looked like whipped cream. The former angel ventured carefully closer, surprise taking him as Dean suddenly threw his left arm around him and pulled him to his side, holding him around the shoulders while he continued to smooth the cream. Cas relaxed into his side, tiredly as he was these days, as Dean turned to place a kiss on his temple. 

“Hey, Tiger.” Dean chided, slowing his motions as Castiel assumed he was finished. He sighed contently, leaning his head onto the hunter’s shoulder. 

“Good morning, Dean.” As much as Cas enjoyed Dean’s endearments, he knew Dean needed none to know that Castiel held all the fondness in the world when he spoke to him. 

Dean was already dressed, more or less, in a grey t-shirt and muted red plaid button down with rolled sleeves, a pair of fairly new jeans but no shoes. Cas looked down as he brushed his pinkie toe against Dean’s rather cold one, and was pleased to see Dean grin at his efforts. 

“Do you wanna lick the spoon?” Dean offered the red rubber spatula to the man beside him, mindful not to get any whipped cream on his own blanket. The brunet simply nodded, taking the spatula and taking a tentative lick of the sweet, fluffy stuff. There were seldom more than few words exchanged before Castiel ate in the mornings, or at least until he had a coffee. He found that he liked the whipped cream, and made quick work of stripping the spatula back down to its original color as Dean left his side briefly to peer into the refrigerator. He took out a package of strawberries and one of blueberries, pulling a cutting board down from the overhead cabinets and a knife from the small block in the corner. 

Castiel set the spatula back next to the cake plate, and the cake, and stepped away for his one morning ritual. He took down a fat white coffee cup, poured a generous amount of ready-brewed coffee, and fixed it up with almost a sickening amount of sugar and cream, just until it was full enough that it might spill. He took a seat at the small pine table in the corner near the window, reaching forward for the silverware they kept in the middle. He dropped a spoon into his cup and stirred carefully, swirling it around before sipping and deeming it worthy of a few word’s conversation. Resituating the duvet around him, he cleared his throat and stretched his toes, willing the sleep out of him. 

“What are you making?” Cas endeavoured, holding his coffee at chin level, elbows propped on the table. He watched Dean’s hands as they sliced strawberries and rinsed blueberries before sticking them to the whipped cream of whatever cake it is that Dean had baked. He dried his hands on a paper towel as Sam reentered the room, a phone pressed to his ear. 

“Voicemail.” Sam dismissed when Dean raised an eyebrow at him. The young Winchester lowered the phone and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket before he continued, “Cake isn’t a breakfast food, you know.” He went to open the fridge and retrieved the orange juice carton, and Castiel smirked a little as he remembered Dean drinking straight from that same carton yesterday, while Sam was out on the notion of I need fresh air before I scream my head off. 

“Don’t you go forcing your stereotypes on me.” Dean quipped jokingly as he proceeded with the cake over to the small pine table in the corner, armed with a pie server and two plates. “Besides, it’s not even my breakfast; it’s for Cas.” He said, smiling at the man beside him. And, with the table blocking his brother’s sight, hooked one leg around Castiel’s under the table. The brunet wrapped in a blanket blushed a small pink, reaching forward to steal a strawberry from the nonroutine dessert. 

“You never told me what it is.” He reminded, and Dean smiled wider, if possible, serving up two pieces of spongy, pale yellow cake covered in whipped cream. 

“Angel food cake,” He explained, and the name only made the fallen angel blush deeper. He took a fork from the cup of silverware in the middle of the table, trying for the first time a cake named for heaven’s own. For what he used to be. He supposed the name was to suggest heavenliness. 

And so it did. It might’ve just been Dean’s gesture, or the whole off schedule dessert deal, or maybe just Cas giving into the content warmth and smell of Dean’s comforter around him, but the whole scene was extremely idyllic to him. His own little slice of heaven, his first piece of angel food cake, and the most important people in his life, right here, right now. 

He was sure no man or angel had ever known as much content as Castiel felt in this moment.


End file.
